


Unexploded Powder Kegs

by Lamachine



Series: Quantum Mechanics [3]
Category: Angel: the Series, Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, angsty smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamachine/pseuds/Lamachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post <em>M.I.A.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexploded Powder Kegs

“Where’s Shaw?”

 

In the wavering of Fred’s voice, Root hears fatigue, worry, and maybe just a touch of anger. Root doesn’t dare look into her eyes; the bruise on her cheek throbs despite the cool air of the night, a wincing pain that shames and burns.

 

“Root,” Fred insists, but she doesn’t move. With her arms crossed in front of her she’s rigid like a statue; only her tensed muscles and her scarce breaths betray her beating heart. “Where’s Shaw?” she pleas.

 

The fresh bruise hurts all the way to Root’s eyes when she talks. “Can I come in?” her throat fires up to let out the words.

 

The statue that was Fred suddenly melts and a hand find Root’s, pulling her inside. The quietness of the hotel is only disturbed by the faint sound of their footsteps as they make their way to Fred’s bedroom. A door behind which Root foolishly hopes Shaw is hiding.

 

She isn’t.

 

Fred’s mattress sinks under Root’s weight as she waits for Fred to return with the med kit. The lamp glows orange in a dull effort to warm up the room; everything is cold anyway. Root has been freezing for days, ever since the Machine asked her to stop searching for Shaw.

 

Ever since the Machine ordered her to stop caring.

 

“Take off your jacket,” Fred commands and Root doesn’t question it. She’s tired, too tired to wonder how Fred knew she had reopened her stitches on the way over here. Her shirt is wet with blood and Root barely notices.

 

She turns deaf as she expects Fred to interrogate her, to demand answers. But Fred’s hands work in silence as she slowly cleans Root’s wounds, a burning sadness in her eyes. Root knows that pain too well; she doesn’t want to see it. Doesn’t want Fred to feel it.

 

“She’s not dead,” Root tries, although it’s harder every day to believe that. It’s been a week now, seven long days searching for Shaw and not finding a damn clue as to whether she made it out alive.

 

Fred forces a shy smile. “Well, that’s good,” she promises, one hand cupping Root’s cheek. Her cold fingers soothe the burning of the bruise even as the pressure aches. “She’s tough.”

 

Root tries to nod, but Fred’s fingers are pulling her close. Warm lips find Root’s and she shivers at the touch, as if this one bit of warmth only reminded her of the freezing cold she has been carrying around since the elevator. Since Shaw kissed her so desperately.

 

A sob runs up Root’s throat and breaks the kiss; it tears Root apart as she tugs on Fred’s clothes. Fred’s hesitation disappears after a murmured “please” and she allows Root to drag her closer, careful to avoid her injuries. With a strange reverence Fred pulls the bloodied t-shirt over Root’s head, watching as Root’s messy curls fall down on her shoulders. Root’s watered eyes are wild as they land on Fred’s neck and she doesn’t stop herself from leaning in and biting hard.

 

Fred hisses as her fingers dig into Root’s arms, pushing her away. “Don’t,” she asks and Root blinks. _Shaw isn’t here_ , she painfully remembers.

 

“I should go,” Root sighs more than she whispers.

 

“I want you to stay,” Fred insists, fingers tangling in Root’s curls.

 

Root hesitates even as Fred unclasps her bra and pushes down the mattress. Even as Fred straddles her, taking off her own clothes, Root thinks of leaving.

 

_Shaw is out there._

 

“I need you to stay,” Fred repeats as she leans down and kisses Root again. “Promise me.”

 

Root’s tightened throat makes it hard to breathe and yet she manages to blurt out a quiet, “I promise.” It brings a sad smile to Fred’s lips before she moves against Root, her body melting into hers. The fabric of their pants brushes uncomfortably but Root doesn’t mind as much when Fred’s hand cups her breast. Fingers tease as Root’s ribcage burns up and she closes her eyes, guiltily picturing someone else.

 

But Shaw would never be this tender, this warm, this _slow_.

 

Root opens her mouth to complain, but Fred cuts her off. “Let me,” she commands more than suggests, fingernails running down Root’s torso until the palm settles over Root’s stomach.

 

Biting her lower lip, Root nods in agreement. Another wave of warmth rushes over her as Fred sucks on her pulse point, her bare skin heating up Root’s along the way. Root’s hands finally lift from the mattress, pressing against Fred’s back to urge her closer. There’s anger choking her as Fred continues to tease and Root tries not to let it out even as her fingernails dig crescents and trace red lines down the curve of Fred’s spine.

 

A quiet moan leaves Fred’s lips when she kisses Root again. Root’s tongue finds its way behind Fred’s teeth, her mouth warm and wet and inviting and the frustration snaps out of Root like a dam breaking. She pours herself into Fred, a puddle on the mattress as a hand slips into her pants.

 

The tip of Fred’s finger reaches Root’s clit as her palm rests against Root’s pelvis, still, somehow grounding Root in place.

 

Root’s eyes find Fred’s and for a moment she can’t breathe. _I can’t lose anybody else_ , she repeats like a mantra, and see the same words echoing in Fred’s tired gaze.

 

_I can’t lose anybody else._

 

Root tries not to think of Hanna as Fred’s hand starts moving again, pulling out of her pants to undo them. She forgets the weight of Shaw’s body over hers and finds comfort in the knowledge that Fred is doing the same.

 

That Fred is trying so hard not to think about losing Shaw a second time.

 

Her hands are steadier as she helps Fred out of her clothes and when they fall back on the bed bare and exhausted, the ghosts are gone. It’s Fred’s fingers that pull Root’s hair and Root’s tongue that teases Fred’s breasts.

 

Fred’s fingers are curling inside Root when she opens her stitches again, the pain blinding for a second and Root gasps. The ache is welcomed, but with it returns Shaw’s body lying on the floor, elevator door closing and Root pushes Fred off her. She needs air, she needs cold, _she needs Shaw_.

 

“I should go,” she repeats and her sobs warn her that she’s crying. She brushes off the tears but others replace them and Root wonders where to go, what to do.

 

There’s nothing ahead but the void of loss, and she knows it well.

 

“I can’t,” Fred shakes her head, but stays away. Root pictures she must look like a wounded animal, ready to bite the hand that would help. “I can’t lose her again, Root.”

 

Root’s heart sinks heavy in her chest and the guilt stops the tears.

 

“But if I have to,” Fred’s voice wavers and she takes a small step forward, “I don’t want you to follow her.”

 

It’s a promise Root cannot keep, and yet she nods.

 

How she finds herself in Fred’s arms again, Root doesn’t know. All she understands is the warmth of Fred’s body pressed against her and the slow footsteps leading them both back to the bed.

 

“Tell me about Schrödinger’s thought experiment,” Root asks, barely a whisper in Fred’s ear. She doesn’t need to look at Fred to know she understands what Root is thinking. As long as they don’t know where Shaw is, she is both alive and dead, and as unbearable as that paradox is, it’s the only hope Root has.

 

Fred’s lips trace a line of soft kisses along Root’s jawbone as she slips two fingers inside her. Root tries not to shiver but Fred’s gentle movements make it nearly impossible to _think_ , and yet Fred complies.

 

“I prefer Einstein’s take on superposition,” she argues, pulling a moan out of Root. “Do you want me to tell you about that?”

 

There are tears again in Root’s eyes as she nods, her hands desperately holding onto Fred.

 

“Sometimes a system has its particles dispersed,” Fred starts as Root bites down her lip, the faster rhythm of Fred’s hand numbing her thoughts. “And that can bring the system into a state of superposition.”

 

Fred shifts above Root, her fingers digging deeper into her and Root lets out another moan, her hips bucking against Fred’s hand.

 

There are tears running down Root’s cheeks but they aren’t hers and so she pulls Fred down, closer, so desperately closer, and urges her to continue.

 

“Einstein said it was like an unstable keg of gunpowder,” Fred complies, sobs shaking her voice as her breath tickles Root’s neck.

 

Root feels another finger slipping in and her limbs turn electric, heels digging into the mattress just like her nails bury into skin. “Fred, please,” she begs even as Fred’s muscles tense above her.

 

“Because it’s unstable,” Fred goes on and Root cannot feel the ache of her broken stitches any more that she can hear Fred’s sadness, “it is both exploded and unexploded.”

 

There’s a hand pulling on Root’s hair and teeth biting on her earlobe as she comes, a burst of energy rushing through her even as her mind pictures the explosion of a powder keg, with its dark flames and choking black smoke. “It’s impossible to determine,” Fred whispers in Root’s implant and tears burn her eyes once more. “The equation’s incomplete.”

 

The weight of Fred’s body makes up for the void her fingers create as they leave Root, and for a moment the room falls quiet. Root focuses on her breathing, tries to matches Fred’s pulse, but it’s uneven.

 

“I have to find her,” Root confesses in the darkness of Fred’s bedroom, blood seeping through her opened stitches and staining the sheets.

 

Fred’s lips place a chaste kiss on the bruise that discolors Root’s cheek. “You will,” she promises, although there’s no way to know.

 

The equation is incomplete.

 

“But I can’t lose anyone else,” she reminds Root, pushing herself off the mattress so she can stare into her eyes.

 

Root knows what Fred wants, but it’s something she never gave before. A promise to stay safe. A promise to keep herself alive. She doesn’t know that she can truly offer that to anyone.

 

Instead of answering, she pulls up and reverses their position, wrapping her body over Fred’s. Her blood smears on Fred’s smooth skin but Fred doesn’t notice; she keeps her gaze locked in with Root’s.

 

“You promised,” Fred reminds her.

 

When Root doesn’t answer, Fred presses a hand against Root’s opened wound. “No more of this,” she orders with a cold voice and Root hisses.

 

“Do you think Shaw wants you to die for her?” she questions and when Root tries to move away, Fred pulls her back. “She needs you to stay alive.”

 

Root’s throat tightens as the anger comes back, burning bright around her sternum.

 

“ _I_ need you to stay alive,” Fred repeats. “No matter what you find.”

 

It’s there again, the promise lingering between the two of them, Shaw’s ghost hovering in Fred’s bedroom. Root hears the Machine again, spelling STOP over and over again and her implant feels unbearably silent. She needs answers, she needs to complete the equation; she needs to know if the gunpowder keg has exploded or not.

 

She needs to know if she lost someone else.

 

Fred pulls her closer, one hand cupping Root’s cheek. “Stay,” she implores again.

 

Root swallows hard before she allows her body to sink into Fred’s, exhausted and empty. It’s not an agreement as much as it is a surrender, and her weakened muscles welcome the reprieve.

 

The bedroom remains quiet and warm as Fred slowly patches up Root a second time, fingers trailing tenderly on the skin. This time Root records every touch, focuses on every one of Fred’s looks. There’s sadness and fatigue and anger again, but Root doesn’t question it. She breathes in Fred’s scent, her arousal still lingering and Root absently wonders if she has enough energy left to do something about it.

 

As if she read Root’s thoughts, Fred forces a smile. “In the morning,” she suggests as she slips into the bed sheets.

 

Root follows her in, warmth spreading from her chest to her limbs as Fred presses her body against hers.

 

“In the morning,” she promises.


End file.
